Doctor Thompson lit a match on the speedway.
It casts a perfect shadow against the underbrush
To the left of us, to the right of us.
We're losing our sense of misdirection,
As we're tied at our ankles and our heads
Try to with the concrete ground.
It sees past pick-up lines and cabaret wines,
And splits it down the center.

The blood pooling around us speaks for itself.

A smile curls at the corners of his mouth.
'would you care for a drink?'
Battery acid and coke on a tray.
Everything about him screams 'one night stand,'
The grease in his hair,
His dark skin.
Pinstripe sleeves, and a faded maroon tie.
Nice try, but I know a valet when I see one.

This is how it all began,
with these LSD flashlights stabbing you in the cornea.
But It's obvious you're farsighted,
As you fade in and out of consciousness.
The two men beside you smell like strawberry fields.
'Hello Goodbye' is on the radio.

Irony tastes like copper.

Bare knuckles crack against bare skin.
You correct yourself,
and the laughter sends sickening aerosol
against the parking garage walls.
You're no stranger to shot glasses and a black eye.

But Doctor Thompson is no stranger to contradiction.
i like it a lot. captures a good mood. i'm assuming it have a somewhat psychadelic sound?
Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the cake this morning!

yeah, that's an inside joke. i made it different colors and sizes to be obnoxious...